Funny how on a blog (ok, this blog) one makes things all pretty and glossy and shiny.
For instance, it's Sunday here and I could quite honestly write the following things:
Mr Soup is spending the weekend with buddies, camping, swimming, exploring the glorious Prom, communing with nature, bonding with his mates and recharging his severely rundown batteries.
This gives me as much unlimited computer/reading/sewing/knitting and tv time as I wish, in addition to plenty of solitude which I seriously crave.
On Friday night I lay on a picnic rug under the trees and (with book and knitting) watched the offspring play in their final cricket matches for the season, later eating fish and chips for dinner under a fluoro sunset sky (on aforementioned picnic rug under said gum trees).
Yesterday we went violin shopping for Son #1 who (finally) needs a full size and superior "advanced student" instrument. After much deliberation we brought home a magnificent instrument for a week's trial. The boy can't keep his hands off it which is good as he now has his private violin teacher, school violin teacher, school orchestra teacher and community orchestra teacher giving him pieces to practise.
There are four boy children running around the garden playing imaginative games, communing with nature and exploring the bush surroundings.
A huge, elderly grey kangaroo has taken up residence next door and can be observed most mornings and evenings, nibbling grass, drinking from the dog's bowl and benevolently eyeing the children.
Or, it could go like this.
Mr Soup has nicked off for the weekend, leaving me to deal with the logistics of getting two children to Friday night cricket matches which start and finish at different times and a third child who threw a tantrum because he didn't want to come but couldn't stay home because, did I mention? Mr Soup has disappeared for the weekend.
The fish and chips were too greasy. Son #3 lost one of the knitting needles.
All that free time to watch films and read blogs and knit? Spent washing, driving and preparing food three times a day for four hungry boys. Two of whom are now old enough to stay up much later at night, thus cutting into that precious solitude.
Saturday was spent driving children all over the place to violin shops and violin teachers, then collecting a fourth child for a sleepover, all the while dragging all my three children with me because, that's right, Mr Soup is off enjoying himself.
Superior violins for "advanced students" are mind numbingly expensive.
The four children (the ring-in is Son #1's best friend, here for the weekend) are going slightly feral and playing a game that somehow involves throwing gumboots at each other.
The kangaroo poohed in the dog bowl, thoroughly confusing the dog next morning.
The car died on Saturday night, leaving us stranded and worried not only about how much it will cost to fix but how I am going to get everyone to work and school and uni this coming week, not to mention getting Son #1's best friend to the train station this afternoon. Because Mr Soup and his car are NOT HERE CAN YOU TELL I AM KIND OF PISSED OFF ABOUT THIS?
My mother has rung twice today. Phone calls with my mother are not brief.
The knitting needle turned up. Broken.
The floors are covered with a fine layer of dust and dog hair.
There is another load of washing to be hung out and three to be folded and put away.
I am very tired.
I think I have pmt.
[Take your pick. Both versions are correct].